


So This is Love

by sailingonstardust



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Barduil - Freeform, Cinderella AU, I thought I'd be able to fit everything into one chapter but I'm way to excited about this au, M/M, request fill for tumblr user ugh--oakenshit, there will definitely be more though, this will probably be three chapters but I'm not 100 percent sure yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:53:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingonstardust/pseuds/sailingonstardust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barduil Cinderella au! This is a request fill for tumblr user ugh--oakenshit. I hope it meets your expectations! :)</p><p>*Also I thought I should note that this is unbetaed, so I apologize for any mistakes*</p>
            </blockquote>





	So This is Love

Bard’s hands stung something fierce as he washed them with bubbling soap under the faucet in his ‘bathroom’, if it could even be called that. In reality it was a chipped old bathtub with a rusty faucet, which he used to wash his hands under as well as bathe in. There was no toilet; the Master argued that the outhouse was plenty enough for him. It was usually fine, though in the summer it smelled horrible and in the winter he felt as if he would get hypothermia in there, but he managed. He had been managing all his life, and the deep scars littering his hands could prove it.

When Bard was only eleven years old, both of his parents died in a horrible encounter with a dragon that ravaged their small town. The boy remembered heat, screams, pain, the contrast of the fire on the water of the great lake their town lied on, and the smell of burning flesh which he would never forget, not for as long as he lived. Bard somehow got out alive with a group of around thirty other people, two of which were his uncle and cousin, Alfrid, who was twelve at the time. He begged them to let him live with them, and they agreed on one condition: Bard was to be their bondservant, not their ward. Of course he agreed, what other choice did he have? The trio travelled for a week to another house his uncle – or the Master, rather – owned in Mirkwood. This one was much larger than any other home Bard had ever seen before, and he was amazed at the sheer size of it all.

“Get inside, boy.” The Master had growled as Bard stood erect in the doorway, mouth agape. “You’ll be staying in the attic.”

The Master did not bother to show the boy where the attic was, so he wandered around trying to find it himself. Eventually he located a winding stairway which he followed up and up and up, until he was standing in an enormous, dusty room filled with only a dirty old bathtub with a dead mouse in it, a tiny bedframe with no mattress, and a dusty old chest that, when opened, released the stench of mothballs into the air, making the boy gag. He also noticed a dusty brown curtain that, when slid aside, revealed an expansive view of the field below. Off in the distance, Bard could see the city, and above that…

Bard gasped audibly as he realized that he could see the palace, of all things, from his dusty old attic that he now called home. It stretched impossibly high into the sky, and Bard wondered about the prince who lived there with his father, King Oropher. The queen had passed long ago, since before Bard was born. It was said that she had died in childbirth to their first and only child, Prince Thranduil. Thinking of dead mothers only made the boy remember that his own beloved mother was gone too, and his heart clenched painfully. A sob erupted from his chest and he fell to the filthy floorboards, an orphan boy turned servant, alone in a cruel world.

Now, at eighteen years old, Bard no longer grieved for his dead parents. Oh, he often wished for them back. He wondered how different his life might have been had the accursed dragon never come to Laketown, his old home. Yet he knew that those wishes were futile, so he distracted himself with his many chores and put the thoughts out of his mind.

Ever and anon, his mind would wander to the palace atop the hill. On clear nights, he would sit on the windowsill in the attic with his knees to his chest and gaze out, wondering what Prince Thranduil was doing at the moment. King Oropher was still the ruler of Mirkwood, so Bard assumed that the young man did not yet have to make the hard decisions. Bard liked to picture himself in Thranduil’s position; full of power, living in a palace, not told he was a worthless bastard every day of his life.

Often the Master and Alfrid’s comments brought Bard to tears once he was alone in the attic at night, but it had simply become a part of his everyday life. He trudged on, fueled by the hope that one day he just might make it on his own in the world, and oh what a day that would be.

****

Thranduil rode swiftly through Mirkwood forest, the dark foliage creating an almost ethereal look. His father was constantly bothering him to go out and hunt. He argued that it was the mark of a strong man to do so and bring down a stag or something equally as hearty, so hunt Thranduil did, though not in the way his father had in mind. Thranduil hunted not with a bow and arrows, but with a canvas, paints, and a paintbrush.

The prince found immense joy unlike any other in the beauty of nature, and he used his artistic talents to capture the magnificence of it all forever. Today, his goal was a bit more difficult than any of his previous endeavors. Today, he was hunting for a great elk he had caught sight of just last week. Though he had approached it carefully and quietly, the thing had run off without a moment’s hesitation. This afternoon he hoped to remedy that. 

So it was with great care and speed that he tore through the forest, making his way to the very clearing he had spotted the majestic animal in last time. The excitement of the opportunity before him made his heart beat a thousand miles a minute, and he smiled, thinking that he probably looked like some forest sprite at the moment atop his white steed, while his platinum blond hair flowed in the wind behind him. Thranduil thought that he would quite like to be a forest sprite, if it would get him away from his responsibilities for a time. At least that way he could live in his beloved forest without his father threatening to marry him off to some foreign dignitary.

He began to slow as he approached the clearing from last week, and sure enough, the elk stood with its head down as it grazed. The thing was enormous, and Thranduil found himself breathless with excitement. Although he was farther away than he would like, the prince did not dare get any closer to the animal before him for fear of it running off once again. Slowly and quietly he eased his canvas, paints, and paintbrush out of his satchel and began to preserve the moment on canvas forever.

****

“Boy!” Bard heard his Master call from downstairs, and he turned off the faucet and dried his hands on his holey pants. “Boy, get down here now!” He heard the man call again, and he took the stairs two at a time.

“Yes, Master?” He questioned dutifully once downstairs, his dingy clothing contrasting starkly with the grandeur of the place.

The man turned with all his girth and looked disgustedly at the young man, as if he weren’t the cause of Bard’s unkempt appearance. “What is the meaning of that?” He bellowed, pointing at the window at the front of the house.

Bard craned his neck to see what his Master was pointing at, though he could see nothing that would warrant such a question. “I do not know what you refer to, Master.”

“What I refer to, you insolent lummox, is the crud all over the bloody window!” The large man spat, a glare on his red face.

Bard turned once again to look at the glass, but he saw nothing; it was perfectly clean, as it had been when he spent two hours that morning cleaning all of the windows.

“I’m sick of your laziness, boy. I’ve told you, and told you, and told you, and what do you do? You give yet another half-arsed attempt! I won’t let it go unpunished this time, we’ll see if you’ll learn better with my belt against your filthy skin.”

With that, the Master unbuckled his belt from around his waist and pulled. He wrapped the leather round his fist and it dangled menacingly. Bard had had his fair share of whippings through the years, and all tended to be for things he had actually put a good effort into, like the windows in this instance. The Master smirked as Bard pulled off his dirt stained shirt and turned around so his back was bared before the man.

Bard inhaled sharply and screwed up his face in pain as the first _crack!_ rang through the air and his skin burned like it had been set ablaze; burned like the way his parents burned all those years ago. The next lash laid adjacent to the other and Bard let out a cry of pain this time. Three lashes later, and Bard shook with the pain of it all as he heard the Master sliding back on his belt.

“Now redo them, and they’d best be done in an hour or else you won’t be getting any supper.” He ordered. Tears stung Bard’s eyes as he stood upright once again, his back burning burning burning. He doubted there was any blood; the Master was always careful to confine those whippings to the attic so none of his expensive furnishings would be ruined. That way, only Bard’s meager possessions would be.

He did not bother to put his shirt back on before walking outside with as much dignity as he could muster. Bard did not miss Alfrid’s smirk from behind the novel he was feigning to read in the armchair across the room, but he pretended not to notice. 

Once outside, the young man did not tend to the windows, for he could handle one night without the measly portions of leftovers he was granted. What he really needed was to ride Smaug, his horse, deep into Mirkwood. He supposed the animal was the Master’s, but it much preferred Bard over the large man. Bard was the only one who ever rode Smaug anyway, what with running errands for the Master and sometimes, like now, letting himself go hungry for the night for the sake of pretending, even if only for a moment, that he was free.

With a grunt of pain he climbed atop Smaug, the dark horse letting out a whinny of concern. With a flick of the reins, Bard ordered the horse into a gallop, and into Mirkwood forest they rode.

****

They rode hard, the foliage around them simply a green and brown blur. Bard’s back stung and throbbed, but he did not care. He could taste freedom, even if it was all a lie, and that was all that mattered in the moment. Stray twigs slapped at his face as Smaug ran through the wood, the beat of his hooves resounding in Bard’s very being. He did not pay much attention to where they were, or where Smaug would take him. He knew the horse could get back without Bard guiding him.

Finally the animal began to slow from a gallop to a trot, and Bard could see a clearing up ahead. As they got closer, he was amazed to see an enormous elk. Its antlers seemed to stretch the length of a grown man, and the animal must have stood at least eight feet tall. Bard halted Smaug with a pull of the reins, but the horse whinnied and shifted as if anxious. Immediately the elk lifted its huge head and bolted from the clearing. In his disappointment, Bard heard something that he did not expect. A groan of frustration echoed across the clearing. There was no doubt about it; it came from a man, and probably a man who had been attempting to bring down the elk. Bard ordered Smaug forward and the horse moved into the spot the enormous elk had just vacated. It was then that he saw, from a ways off, a magnificent white horse, and atop it a strikingly beautiful man.

Just as Bard saw him, he too saw Bard. His expression was first angered, but it quickly morphed into concern. “Are you alright?” Bard heard the man call as he trotted closer to him.

“I’m fine. Were you going to kill that elk?” Bard knew this was a rude way to begin a conversation with a stranger you’ve just met in the woods, but quite frankly he didn’t care. He also knew that hunting was necessary for meat, but that elk was simply too majestic to be shot and butchered for an evening meal.

“No, of course not.” The blond replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He stopped his horse just before Smaug and said “I was painting it. I’ve been looking for it for the past week, and now that I’ve found it you’ve managed to scare it off.”

“Oh.” Bard replied dumbly. Now that he knew the elk was in no harm, he felt bad for spooking it and ruining the stranger’s opportunity for capturing its beauty. “Sorry.”

The young man before him seemed to study him for a moment, his gaze lingering on Bard’s exposed stomach. With all of the work he was assigned, Bard was in pretty good shape, though it wasn’t ever something he paid any mind; after all, who would ever see him? Now in front of this man, however, he could feel his cheeks heating up.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He questioned, softer this time. “You’re sitting like you’re in pain and your eyes are red like you’ve been crying.”

Bard scrutinized the blond before sighing and saying “It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before, or won’t happen again. I’ll manage.”

“What happened?” The stranger pried, apparently not recognizing the hints Bard was sending that he decidedly didn’t want to talk about it.

Instead of answering, Bard asked “What’s your name, then?”

The man hesitated only a moment, so quickly that Bard thought he may have imagined it, and said “Thran. What’s yours?”

“Bard.” He replied. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you.” Thran replied, though Bard thought that he must simply be employing his manners. The man was obviously well off if his bejeweled bridle, impeccably clean clothing, and beautiful shiny hair were anything to go by, not that Bard was staring. “Might I ask what you’re doing in the woods, scaring elks off?” Thran questioned.

“I was running away from my Master, even if only for a few minutes.” Bard did not know why he told the truth, but there it was. He watched Thran for his reaction, but it was not at all what he had been expecting.

“Is he the one that whipped you?” Thran asked nonchalantly, and Bard nodded. “I see. Does he pay you well?”

“He does not pay me.” Bard grumbled, shifting uncomfortably atop Smaug.

Thran’s eyebrows shot up and he asked in an incredulous voice “Then why don’t you leave for good?”

“I have no place else to go.” Bard replied in a frustrated tone. Honestly, was this man so daft that he couldn’t understand that? Perhaps it was simply because of his wealth that he did not realize how difficult it would be to make it in the world without so much as a penny to your name.

“You could work at the palace.” Thran suggested in a tone that sounded like he genuinely wanted to help, which touched Bard, though he did not know why. The man was a complete stranger, albeit a handsome one, but still. He had no reason to trust him. Yet here Bard was, telling him all about his problems.

“They would never hire the likes of me.” Bard scoffed, but Thran was adamant.

“Of course they would! You’re handsome, fit, no doubt a hard worker; you’re just what they look for!”

Bard felt his face heating up at the compliments, but he reined himself back in. “And how would you know? I suppose you hire people for the king?”

“I do, yes, among other things.” Thran replied matter-of-factly, and Bard faltered.

“I’m sorry?” He stuttered, suddenly very aware of just how far apart on the class scale he and Thran were. “You’re not joking?”

“No, I’m not.” Thran assured, a half smile lighting on his face. “Is it really that hard to believe?”

“No, it’s just that... I mean… It’s not every day I run into a palace worker in the middle of the forest.” Bard explained, making Thran smile even wider.

“It’s not every day I meet a man as kind and brave as you in the forest, though I’m glad that I did.” Thran smiled, and Bard’s heart fluttered. 

“And I am glad to have met you.” He grinned back. 

“Will I see you again?” Thran asked hopefully, and Bard found himself nodding.

“I can come this time next week, if you can too.” 

Thran nodded and said “Aye, that would be perfect. Do try not to scare off the elk next time.” 

If it hadn’t been for the blond’s teasing smile, Bard would have thought he was upset, though he was glad that he wasn’t. He felt bad enough about it already. “I’ll do my best.” Bard replied, mockingly solemn. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

“As do I. Take care, Bard.”

“And you.” He nodded, and with that the men went their separate ways, neither aware of just how interesting things were about to get.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! There will definitely be more, don't worry! I'm currently working on two other multi-chaps that are pretty long, so I don't know when the next time I'll be able to update this will be, but I'll try to make it soon.  
> Let me know what you think! ❀◕ ‿ ◕❀


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